The Last Piece of Cake
by sugah66
Summary: You've got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. It's not really about cake. DL.
1. Prologue

**TITLE: The Last Piece of Cake  
****AUTHOR: Sugah  
****SUMMARY: You've got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.  
****SPOILERS: Probably through 3x02 "Not What It Looks Like". But I haven't decided yet.  
****PAIRING: Danny/Lindsay  
****RATING: T. May up it later but probably not. It's mostly swearing and suggestiveness.  
****DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. They aren't mine. Please don't sue. I have student loans to pay.  
****AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Ash and Spunky for betaing this for me! Thanks to their ideas, I cured my writer's block.**

**The number of reviews I get determines how long this goes, so if you like it, hit review and tell me! I'm a review whore.**

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The Last Piece of Cake

_"**True love cannot be found where it does not truly exist. Nor can it be hidden where it truly does." – François de la Rouchefoucauld**_

When Lindsay was a little girl, she and her friends decided that they would make a list specifying every attribute and quality that they wanted their dream men to have. At ten, her list was comprised of silly childish traits that had seemed immensely important at the time – such as, "he will always give me the last piece of cake." She had no concept of men or love beyond what she could learn from her friends and her brief "relationships" that consisted of passing notes to each other in homeroom and chaste pecks on the lips when they thought no one was looking, so she had no idea what true love really was. But she made the list all the same, giggling with her friends as they added things like, "he will have a cute butt" and "he will tell me I look pretty when I look like crap."

Her mother cleaned up her room a few days later, and Lindsay never saw the list again. She didn't really care. It wasn't important.

When Lindsay was in high school, she sat next to a cute boy in trigonometry. His name was Colt – "After the revolver," he would joke. To Lindsay's seventeen-year-old mind, he was her ideal. He was sweet and funny. He did impressions of the teachers when they sat together at lunch, even though he used the same voice to imitate everyone. He opened doors for her and pulled out her chair for her. He was charming and witty, but he was quiet, too. To the rest of the school, they were the perfect couple. He was on the football team, and she was a cheerleader. They had the same circle of friends; they were both in the popular clique.

She liked being around him, because he was cute and he made her feel special. She thought about him all the time and hated the days when they couldn't see each other. She was so certain that she loved him. She gave him her heart on a platter, and after they were together four months, she gave herself to him. It was awkward and weird and nothing about the sweet, charming boy she thought she loved was visible in the panting, moaning person that moved above her. She went home and cried herself to sleep.

He dumped her the next day, having finally gotten what he wanted, and she vowed that she would never love again. And if she did, it would be someone who was the complete opposite of Colt.

When Lindsay was in college, she had Criminal Psychology with a boy named Dexter. He had a Mohawk and drove a motorcycle, and his body was covered in tattoos. He was wild and exciting and dangerous and he made her feel alive. He made fun of her in front of her friends – "Just joking," he would say. He got her drunk so she wouldn't complain when he did things that he shouldn't do. He took advantage of her giving personality and acted like she should be thanking God that he was condescending enough to date her.

He was so different from Colt that Lindsay convinced herself that this was the kind of man she wanted. She needed someone different. She didn't want to be reminded of the sweet, charming boy who had taken her heart and shattered her innocence. So she gave her body to Dexter, hoping that her heart would follow suit, and he claimed it with possessive ferocity. She even got a tattoo to please him. He wanted her to get his entire name inked down her arm, but she instead had a small letter "D" tattooed on the small of her back.

He cheated on her with one of her suitemates, and she vowed that she would never let another man claim her so completely, the way that Dexter had, and that she would never again allow sex to define her relationship.

When she first became a CSI, she had a partner named Martin. He was quite possibly the most boring man on the face of the planet. He droned on about varying types of trace that could be found on ammunition and all the ways that bleach contaminated a crime scene. But he was a nice man. He brought her coffee when he went to the break room, even though he never made it the way she liked it. He offered to take her on a tour of Bozeman once she was settled.

He was intelligent. He taught her so many things. She gave him her mind, delighting in the intellectual stimulation that he gave her, and when their relationship eventually crossed from friends to lovers, she tried to ignore the complete lack of passion between them. Martin was a good man. He was kind and honest and he treated her well, but she actually dreaded being intimate with him. He was safe and boring, but he didn't satisfy her, and she didn't love him.

He proposed to her, and she said no. She vowed that she was done looking for love, since she never seemed to find it. She had dated different types of men, and none of them were her dream man, and she was done. She decided that when it was real and true, love would find her.

When she moved to New York, she met Danny. He was without a doubt the most infuriating man in the world. He played a joke on her on her first day. He never called her by her given name. He was always trying to one-up her, like the über-competitive son of a bitch that he was. She often caught him staring at her – whether it was from across the lab or from his adjoining desk. He would flirt shamelessly, then head off for a date with the flavor of the week.

But sometimes, when they were working late on a case in their shared office, he would let his guard down and not be a complete jackass. And eventually what she considered hurtful teasing morphed into playful banter – so gradually that she could not point out when exactly she had gone from detesting Danny Messer to not disliking him.

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Coming up…_

_How exactly Lindsay went from detesting Danny to not disliking him._


	2. 1: Cute

**A/N: Many thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I heart y'ins guys!**

**Special thanks go to Gen for beta-ing this chapter for me! Also, she gave me the quote.**

**Additional A/N at the end.**

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Chapter 1: Cute **

**"Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,  
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense."  
- Joseph Addison**

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Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy: _

_1. He must be cute._

Colt was cute. There was no denying that. He had those stereotypical, All-American good looks that made every girl in their high school swoon. The first day Lindsay saw him – the second day of ninth grade – she thought she might faint. His black hair was shaggy, and it fell in his eyes, which were the most piercing shade of green she had ever seen. He was tall and in good shape, and he walked with confidence. Every guy in school wanted to be him, and every girl in school wanted to be with him. He was "that guy."

Lindsay had always liked his arms. Colt had very nice arms. The hint of a bicep, giving the impression that he was strong and could protect her. She'd always wanted to thank their high school football coach for all the weight training he made his players do. He had really nice abs, too. And a cute butt. She used to think about his butt during gym class, when she and her girlfriends would watch the boys run. She and her friends would giggle and fantasize about what he might look like naked.

He looked good naked. She had to admit that. But that was the only pleasant memory she had about her first time. Those piercing green eyes she admired never once glanced at anything above her neck as soon as she'd stripped off the last of her clothes. She gripped his arms – those arms she loved – hard enough to bruise as he moved within her without any thought as to how small and tight she would be. She had hoped to feel those arms around her afterwards, but he collapsed on top of her and then rolled off and onto his side.

The problem with having the "it" guy as her boyfriend was that all the other girls wanted him, too. And he wasn't about to waste his time with just her. He had a new girlfriend by the end of school the next day, and Lindsay vowed that she would never again date a guy who fit the traditional standard of attractiveness.

Dexter was cute, but not in a traditional way. Lindsay always thought he would have been breathtaking if he had dressed more conservatively. He was tall and lanky. He shaved his head on both sides, but let his hair grow long so that he could spike it into a Mohawk. She thought his natural hair color was blond, but it was never blond. The first day Lindsay saw him – the first day of spring semester, sophomore year – it was bright green. His eyes were dark and soulful.

Lindsay had always liked his chest. He had a very nice chest. It wasn't nearly as defined as Colt's, but it was deceiving. She could feel the muscles jump beneath her fingers whenever they were together. The skin was smooth due to the absence of chest hair, and she used to pepper tiny kisses above his heart. He didn't have a cute butt. In fact, he didn't have much of a butt at all. Lindsay's sorority sisters used to say that he looked like a frog standing on two legs. One time, Lindsay watched him as he got dressed and realized with wide eyes that they were right.

He looked good naked, too. But his dark eyes got this controlling look in them whenever he looked at her, so she would focus on the tattoo on his arm whenever they were together. They weren't so much together as he possessed her. The chest that she loved so much would crush against her breasts until she almost couldn't breathe. She pushed against it until she left fingernail-shaped bruises, but that only seemed to encourage him.

The problem with having a boyfriend like Dexter was that he treated women like possessions, and he was a collector. It wasn't enough that he had her tripping over herself to please him, he had to add to his collection, so he moved on to one of her suitemates. Lindsay vowed that she would never again base her opinion of a guy on the way he looked.

Martin was cute in a nerdy kind of way. Lindsay compared Martin's level of attractiveness with Doogie Howser, or Arnold from "Head of the Class." They had that kind of inner beauty that wasn't obvious at the outset. Martin was tall and skinny. His arms were spindly, and he had chicken legs. The first day she saw him – her first day as a CSI – she thought he looked like one of the dogwood trees in her parents' front yard. His teeth were slightly too big, and his hair looked like his mother had cut it for him – in the dark. But he had the most beautiful brown eyes that were the color of chocolate.

Lindsay had always liked his smile. He had a gorgeous smile, even with his too-big teeth. And when he was really happy, those beautiful brown eyes would light up. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else about him that she did like. She knew it was shallow, but she wasn't attracted to him – physically. His arms were sticks, his chest was bony, and he didn't have a cute butt, either. The other CSIs used to joke that she better hold on to him during the windstorms because otherwise he would blow away.

He didn't look good naked. He looked skinny and bony and awkward, and it took an extraordinary amount of self-control not to giggle whenever he undressed. He didn't have enough upper body strength to hold himself up off of her whenever he was on top, so she had to be on top most of the time. But whenever she was on top, she couldn't help but notice just how big his teeth really were, and just how bad his haircut really was.

The problem with not being physically attracted to a guy was that it seeped into the rest of the relationship. It didn't matter how kind and tender and caring Martin was. She honestly could not be with a man that she didn't find attractive. So when Martin proposed, she told him that she couldn't marry him. She vowed that she needed to find a man who was attractive and attentive, and eventually she transferred to New York.

Danny wasn't cute. He was hot. Damn hot. The kind of smokin' hot that meant she had to take a cold shower after shifts whenever they drew the same case. He had deep blue eyes, and normally blue eyes didn't smolder, but his did. He got this glint in his eyes whenever he looked at her, and he looked at her a lot. His blond hair was spiky in that messy way that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed. He probably spent longer on his hair than she did on hers. The first day she saw him – her second day in New York – she thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. No doubt about it, the boy was fine. And he knew it, too.

Lindsay loved his arms. Arms had always been "her" feature – the body part of the opposite sex that she noticed first. They were like Colt's, only better, more defined. When Colt made a muscle, she had to feel his bicep to know it was there. Danny just had to brace his arms on the table and lean forward for her to know he had biceps. It was like getting punched in the face. She loved his accent. Even though she hated that he always called her "Montana," she loved the way he said it – the way he pronounced the "a" sound and how she had to strain to hear the "n".

And there was no denying that he had a cute butt. She had never really been one for staring at a guy's ass, but she couldn't help it with Danny. He delighted in torturing her. Why else would he wear those pants that were just tight enough to be tantalizing yet not tight enough to actually reveal anything. But she would catch herself staring sometimes when he walked past her to get results, or when he left the office to go out on a case. She hated herself for it, but damn… He had a cute ass.

What she really hated was the fact that she often sat at her desk, or on her couch, or in her bed, wondering what he looked like naked. The tight T-shirts that he wore gave her a perfect view of how defined his chest muscles were. He probably had great abs. She wondered what his arms would feel like around her, what his weight would feel like on top of her. And when she caught herself wondering, she would shake her head to clear the images. Then she would need to find a way to relieve the pressure that always settled in her pelvis.

She vowed that she would not fall in love with Danny Messer.

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A/N: Okay, here is the deal. Each chapter is going to focus on a separate attribute of Lindsay's list. But, the only problem is, I need some help compiling it! Think back to when you were 10 (easier for some than others) and try and remember what you would have wanted in your perfect guy. I very much appreciate any help anyone can offer me. I have a list going, but I want to see what y'ins think. **

**Any that were mentioned in the previous chapter do not count, as I will already be using them.**


	3. 2: Fun

**A/N: I can't believe no one's commented on Lindsay's tattoo yet. I thought I'd get at least one person saying something about it.**

**I kind of cheated a little this chapter, and I technically used two, but they're similar, so I combined them. Sue me.**

**Part of this chapter is dedicated to Ash. She'll know it when she comes to it.**

**Thanks so much for the continued reviews, and also for the suggestions for the list! I appreciate the help. I really do. Y'ins guys are awesome!** **Thanks to for being my beta for this chapter!**

**Additional A/N at the end.

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**Chapter 2: Fun**

**_"Don't take life too serious. You'll never escape it alive anyway." – Elbert Hubbard_**

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_Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_2. He must be fun, and he must make me laugh._

Colt was fun. At least, he was what a high school girl considered fun. They did fun things together. When they went out on dates – which were usually group affairs – they went to an amusement park or miniature golfing. When they went to the amusement park, they rode the Ferris wheel and the roller coasters. He won her little stuffed animals at the game booths. They had funnel cake and caramel apples and sat close together on the park benches to eat. When they went miniature golfing, he always let her win. They did the occasional "park and make out" dates, and the "watch a movie and make out" dates, which were fun in a different kind of way – in the exhilarating, "what happens if we get caught" way. They only got caught the once; luckily by the usher at the theater and not her father.

He made her laugh, too. While they were dating, they sat together at lunch, and he used to do impressions of the faculty. They were horrible, and he used the same voice to imitate everyone, but he put so much effort into them that Lindsay couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't the impressions themselves that were funny; it was Colt doing the impressions that cracked her up every time. He told good jokes, too, even if she had heard them before. But the way he told them was what made her laugh.

But she didn't think it was fun when he dumped her the day after they slept together. She wasn't laughing when he took a different girl to their junior prom. She feared their entire relationship had been a joke. She vowed to never let that happen again.

Dexter was fun, though not in the way Colt had been fun. He was fun in that exhilarating, "half the stuff we're doing is illegal" kind of way. They did things together that he considered fun. When they went out on dates, they usually went to the same smoky bar just off campus. He knew the bartender, so they got drinks half price, and Lindsay got served, even though she was underage. They would watch whatever god-awful band was trying to make a name for itself that week, and then they would go back to his place. On his motorcycle, on the way to his apartment, she sometimes maneuvered in between him and the handlebars so that they could make out – and occasionally do other stuff.

He didn't make her laugh. He didn't laugh. He didn't tell jokes or do impressions. He didn't even like going to see comedies. She loved comedies – romantic comedies were her favorite type of movies to see on dates. But Dexter liked taking her to see horror films – the gorier, the better – so that she was freaked out and shaking and clung to him like Saran wrap and begged him not to leave her alone in her apartment. The only times Lindsay laughed while she was dating him were when she wasn't with him.

And she didn't think it was fun when she walked into her suite and saw him having sex with one of her suitemates – on her bed. She definitely wasn't laughing when he actually suggested that Lindsay join them. She feared that the only reason she considered him fun was because he was dangerous – and because of the alcohol. She vowed to never let that happen again.

Martin was boring. There was no polite way to phrase that. He was quite possibly the most boring man on the face of the planet. They did things he thought were fun. When they went out on dates, he took her to lectures at the university. She wouldn't have minded if they were subjects that interested her, but "Famous Archaeologists Throughout Time" was not exactly one of her favorites. They didn't go to the movies because something about sitting in a darkened theater staring at the screen gave him headaches. They didn't go to amusement parks because carnival food made him nauseous. They didn't go out to bars because he didn't drink. They didn't do much of anything. Sometimes they had the other members of the team over for board game night. They played games like Balderdash, which usually ended up being more fun the more alcohol consumed – but Martin never served alcohol when they had people over, and so people tended to filter out rather early.

He made her smile, but he didn't make her laugh. He tried to be funny. He would attempt to tell a joke that he had heard or read, but he never remembered the punch line, and in the eventthat he did remember it, he messed it up. He didn't do impressions of anyone because even his voice was boring – it was monotone and nasally and he reminded her an awful lot of Ben Stein. If he was funny, it was unintentional, and usually it was related to his complete ignorance of popular culture. Lindsay would struggle not to laugh whenever he revealed his cluelessness, because it really wasn't funny.

She didn't think it was fun that she wasn't having any fun. It didn't make her laugh that she barely laughed while dating Martin. He was too serious. She was a serious person, but there was a line. She wasn't that serious. How could she be happy for the rest of her life with a man that couldn't even make her laugh? She was miserable with Martin. She vowed to never let that happen again.

Danny was fun. He was a lot of fun. And he didn't seem to be trying to be fun, either; at least, not all of the time. He seemed to be a guy who was genuinely fun to be around. They didn't hang out outside of work a lot, but when they did, she always had a good time. She hated to admit it, but he was a lot of fun. Whenever he found out that she hadn't yet been to a particular New York attraction, he practically insisted that he personally take her there. The first time she saw the giant Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center was when Danny took her ice-skating there. The first time she saw Yankee Stadium was when Danny managed to get them tickets to a game. It never occurred to her that any of these outings could technically be construed as "dates" because she was with Danny. She wasn't about to date Danny Messer, of all people.

There were nights when the whole team would go out for drinks. Usually it was to celebrate the catching of a criminal; sometimes it was to lament that they hadn't caught the criminal. And still other times it was because the case had been so horrifying that they needed to get shit-faced in order to get their minds off of it. Whatever the reason, Danny was always a blast. When he was drunk, he would sing along with the radio. If he got drunk enough, he would stumble up to the bar and serenade the entire place. Lindsay, who tried not to get as drunk as she did in college, couldn't help but laugh as Danny struggled to remember the words to "Hang On, Sloopy".

He made her laugh. Damn, how he made her laugh. If the techs were taking too long to get his results back to him, he would do impressions of them and try and figure out what was taking them so long. Her favorite was whenever he made Adam fantasize about being Luke Skywalker. Danny was amazing at mimicking the sound effects from the movie while miming a light saber duel. He also played pranks on everyone. One morning she walked into their office and discovered that he had been up half the night gluing everything to the surface of her desk. One time he rigged a bunch of water balloons to dump on the next person to walk through the men's room door, soaking a very pissed-off Flack so badly that she could see through his shirt the rest of the day.

She had so much fun with Danny that she forgot she was supposed to detest him. And it was usually during one of her giggle fits after he stuck his foot in his mouth in front of Mac that she wondered if she even still detested him. As long as she didn't date him, then everything would be fine.

She vowed to never date Danny Messer.

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**A/N: I would like to point out that not everyone who doesn't drink is a big a "drip" (to use Auddie's word) as Martin. I personally am not much of a drinker, but I still go out to bars, and I would never presume to prevent anyone from having alcohol at my house. In fact, right now, thanks to my huge lush roommates, our fridge has more beer in it than food. :) I just wanted to make that perfectly clear. ;)**


	4. 3: Smart

**A/N: References 3x04, but doesn't give anything away. If you haven't seen the episode, you probably won't even catch the reference. **

**Thanks to El Spunkarooni for the beta.**

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Chapter 3: Smart

"_It is not enough to have a good mind. The main thing is to use it well."_

_**- Rene Descartes**_

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Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_3. He must be smart._

Colt wasn't really what one could consider smart. He was in all the same classes as she was – the advanced, college prep classes – but he usually got Cs in them. She wasn't sure whether that was because he didn't understand the material, or because he didn't care. She knew that as long as he continued to maintain a C average, he could play football, and that was probably all that mattered to him. It didn't bother Lindsay at first because he was cute and fun, and she liked spending time with him. But it did get to be a problem whenever she wanted to talk about something serious and he would change the topic of conversation to something more his speed. She hated the idea of dumbing herself down for him, pretending that she didn't have anything other than her hairstyle on her mind, just like the rest of the girls in their grade.

He didn't seem to care about his education, and that bothered Lindsay, because she wanted to graduate, get into a good college, find a good job, and be successful – all that good stuff. She couldn't understand how there could be people who didn't want the same thing out of life. But all Colt cared about was his football scholarship. She tried asking him once what he intended to do if football didn't work out, and he was incredibly offended by the insinuation that he would not be drafted into the NFL. She dropped the subject and never brought it up again. She didn't want him to think that she thought he wasn't good enough. She didn't think he was good enough, but she didn't want him to think that she thought that. She learned so much about football just so that she could understand what he was talking about half the time.

It certainly wasn't smart of him to dump her the day after she lost her virginity to him. It broke her heart, and she vowed to never love again, but it also pissed her off. And a pissed-off Lindsay Monroe is a force to be reckoned with. When she found out he was taking Heather McCreevey to the prom, Lindsay broke into the chemistry lab, stole a bottle of liquid heat, sneaked into the boys locker room, and poured it all over his gym clothes. He had to go to the emergency room. It made Lindsay feel slightly better.

Dexter was smart; he just didn't apply himself. He always participated in the class discussions in their Criminal Psychology class, and he always had something intelligent to say. His remarks often sparked heated debates, and he could stand his ground in a way that Lindsay had never seen. But when it came time for the exams and papers, he put very little effort into them, and usually got Cs or even worse. He claimed it was because his ideas made more sense in person than they did on paper. She always assumed it was because he didn't want to have to go to the effort of actually writing them down. It didn't bother Lindsay at first because he was at least capable of intelligent conversation, but she soon started to wonder if this lack of ambition he seemed to have was a phase or permanent. She wasn't sure she could be with a man who simply didn't care. It also bothered her that he laughed at her if she didn't understand what he was talking about.

He couldn't be bothered to care about his education. It didn't "interest him" the way that other things did. He could be amazingly profound when it came to censorship and the inability of the government to create a viable economic plan, but he failed his economics class freshman year. He could talk for hours on the symbolism in a novel or the imagery in a poem, but he never read the novels or poems that were assigned in any of his classes. The only things he seemed to care about were his weekend plans. Lindsay liked a good time as much as the next girl, but for crying out loud, even Colt had a plan for his life. Dexter seemed more than satisfied to drift aimlessly throughout life. She had learned her lesson never to broach the subject of the future, and she didn't want Dexter to think that she was a nag.

It certainly wasn't smart of him to cheat on her with one of her suitemates. It broke her heart, and it very nearly shattered her faith in men, but it also pissed her off. And people should know better than to piss off Lindsay Monroe. When he actually had the audacity to suggest that she join them, she grabbed one of their kitchen knives, barreled her way down to the parking lot, and slashed the tires on his motorcycle. She could have been arrested, but she assumed that Dexter was too embarrassed to file a report. He didn't have the money to buy new tires. It made Lindsay feel slightly better.

Martin was smart. He was one of those people who could be classified as "too smart". Lindsay never knew there could be such a thing as too smart until she met Martin; then she understood. Martin knew everything, and he was very vocal about knowing everything. He often corrected her grammar or her pronunciation, seeming to forget that sometimes it was her accent that was causing her to say things a certain way, and not her ignorance. He would even correct her in front of suspects. It always annoyed her, but she never said anything about it. She didn't want Martin to think that she wasn't as smart as he was. She wasn't, but she didn't want him to think that. He was not only capable of intelligent conversation, it was all that he was capable of. Sometimes she wished he could be shallow for one minute. She might have found it easier to talk to him. He didn't laugh at her if she didn't know something, but he explained it in such a way that it confused her all the more.

He was obsessed with learning things. He never wanted to stop learning. She found it amazing that there were things he didn't know. She didn't think it was possible, thought he knew everything that a person could possibly know. On those rare evenings off together, they would watch "Jeopardy!" and she would not even attempt to answer, because Martin would laugh at her if she got the answer wrong, and then he would answer in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious. She sincerely hoped that she had not sounded this condescending while dating Colt or Dexter. All he seemed to care about was his IQ. She supposed it was because it was one of the few things he had that other people didn't. He could be smart, even if he couldn't be anything else.

It wasn't smart that he had no common sense when it came to her. There was no other explanation as to why he thought that those times she cried in the bathroom after they were together were because she was overcome with emotion. There could be no other excuse for why he couldn't see that she wasn't physically attracted to him. The fact that he was so blind to her true feelings pissed her off. When he proposed, she turned him down, because though she could honestly picture herself spending the rest of her life with him, she knew she would be miserable. It made Lindsay feel slightly better.

Danny was smart. She knew he had to be, to be a CSI, but she honestly didn't expect him to be. Maybe it was because he looked like a bad boy, and bad boys usually weren't known for their intelligence. Maybe it was because he didn't seem to have anything else on his mind other than sex – not that that was a bad thing. Maybe it was the accent. He surprised her, though, by having a thorough grasp of everything from chemistry to football to Greek mythology. It was refreshing to meet a guy who was actually quite intelligent but not anxious to prove it to everyone. He didn't correct her grammar, but he did love to try to prove her wrong. They often would bet each other over the results of their tests – split down the middle as to who won the most. He liked to rile her up by suggesting that she didn't know something; he got this light in his eyes and this little smirk on his face when she took the bait.

He wasn't just book smart, either. Growing up in New York City had given him a certain _savoir-faire_ that she simply didn't have. He didn't make her feel like the world's biggest goober because she didn't always know what he was talking about; he would chuckle and call her "Montana", but he would good-naturedly explain the context without making her seem an idiot. He never corrected her in front of suspects or witnesses but would quietly do so in the car on the way back to the lab. She appreciated that he did that, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She would just roll her eyes and say, "Whatever, city boy." He would shake his head and mutter something in Italian – which he spoke fluently. He taught her a few phrases, but she couldn't quite get the pronunciation down. He'd smile as she stumbled her way through them, patiently repeating them until she eventually got frustrated and gave up.

He never ceased to amaze her with his seemingly bottomless fountain of knowledge, though she had to wonder how much of it was fabricated. So he almost played professional baseball and had a short-lived career in the music business, did he? Was he being truthful or exaggerating? She could never tell. She always meant to ask someone else but didn't want to seem like she was interested. She wasn't interested. She wasn't.

It wasn't smart of him to keep flirting with her. It wasn't smart because if he kept doing that, then she wasn't sure how long she would be able to resist, how long she would be able to maintain the illusion that she detested him with every fiber of her being. Because somewhere along the way she realized that she didn't detest him. In fact, she was dangerously close to liking him, and that simply could not happen. It wasn't smart of him to look at her the way he did, to lick his lips in that incredibly enticing manner, to stand so close to her while they examined evidence.

Danny Messer was an idiot.


	5. 4: Nice

**A/N: I'm starting to repeat myself. Sorry about that.**

**See if you can spot the _Wedding Singer_ reference.**

**I think this is going to be the last chapter with this format. It's starting to get difficult to write. This isn't the last chapter of the story by any means. I still have, like, ten things to go through. I just thought I'd try something different for the next few chapters and see how that works. That's why it took so long to get this chapter written.**

**Many thanks to Cazzie for beta-ing this chapter for me!**

**

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Chapter 4: Nice**

**"A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is not a nice person."  
****- Dave Barry**

_

* * *

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_4. He must be nice._

Colt was nice. Or at least, she thought he was nice – at the time. He did all the things a proper country boy should do. He opened doors for her. He pulled out her chair for her. He stood up when she did. One time he even took off his jacket and laid it over a puddle so that she wouldn't get her shoes wet.

Whenever she had a bad day, he would shove a note – a little doodle or silly joke – through the slats of her locker so that it fell out whenever she opened it. He always brought her flowers when he picked her up for their dates; even if they were just the wildflowers that grew at the edge of her family's property, it was still the thought that counted. On days when she was home sick from school, he would call her and tell her to get better, that he missed the sound of her voice and wouldn't be able to go to sleep without hearing it.

He was an absolute sweetheart to her and an absolute prick to anyone outside of their little circle of friends. He tripped freshmen in the hallways and always used the same lame joke – "Have a nice trip? See you next fall!" He spread rumors about some of the girls in their class that followed those poor souls all the way through to graduation.

At lunch, he would mimic the more intelligent students in their year answering questions in math or science. He called people nasty names behind their backs. He sometimes called people nasty names to their faces. He knocked people's books out of their hands as they walked by. He rolled his eyes and completely ignored whenever someone from a different clique said hello to him.

And it certainly wasn't nice of him to toy with her heart the way he did. To lead her on, only to rip the rug out from under her just as she was convinced she had fallen in love with him. She cried and swore revenge, and she decided that the only way to deal with a bully was to be a bully. She hated it, because she was not a mean person, but no one messed with Lindsay Monroe.

Dexter had never been nice. Even the first day she met him, he'd been a complete and total jackass. But for some reason, that intrigued her. She was convinced that she could change him.

She overlooked the fact that he never brought her flowers when he picked her up for a date, because half of the time he didn't show up for their dates, and when he did he was almost always late. She just reasoned that he wasn't the type of guy who went for typical romantic gestures. She overlooked the fact that he insulted her in front of her friends – called her "stupid" or "fat". She knew that he said those things to everyone, and why should she be any different just because she was his girlfriend? When she had a bad day, he would interrupt her cathartic rants to tell her how much worse his day had been, and that she shouldn't complain because she had it much easier than he did.

He only had one helmet for his motorcycle, and he always wore it. He never walked her to her door after dates, even though she lived in the dodgy part of town. He always spoke in the same condescending tone, as though he couldn't believe how stupid she was. He acted like he was better than everyone else – including his professors. He stole money out of her purse when he thought she wasn't looking. He never tipped their waiters or bartenders. When she missed classes because she was sick, he avoided her and told her not to get him sick, too. On nights when she had to go to bed early because she had an exam the next day, he would call her at two in the morning, piss-ass drunk, and ask for a ride home from the bar.

And it certainly wasn't nice of him to treat her like property. To toss her aside as though she were nothing, and not a living, breathing human being with thoughts and feelings that were just as valid as his own. She cried and swore revenge, and she decided that he was a jerk and was never going to change. All it took was one mistake, and Lindsay moved on. She didn't have to be told twice.

Martin had been nice – to a point. He did the same chivalrous things that Colt had done. He opened doors for her. He helped her out of the car. He brought her flowers or chocolates every time he picked her up for a date, and he was always on time. In fact, he was usually early. He actually listened to her when she talked. Whenever he got up to get something, he always asked if there was anything she needed while he was up. On days when she was off sick, he would bring her soup in bed. When it rained and they only had one umbrella, he always held it so that she was more protected from the rain than he was. They both always ended up drenched, but it was the thought that counted.

He corrected her all the time. He acted like her superior, even though he technically wasn't. He chastised her in public if she wanted to show her affection – even if it was as simple as running her fingers through his hair. On nights that he stayed at her place, he never let her watch the television shows that she usually watched. They took a trip to the Grand Canyon, and he didn't let her have the window seat on the plane, even though she'd never been there before. He was always rude to the salespeople. He wasn't mean to her in that he raised his voice or struck her – he would never do those things – but the little inconsiderate details began to add up after a while.

She felt like the ogre when she rejected his proposal. But could she honestly be with a man who always stole the last slice of pizza? Who switched the radio station right in the middle of her favorite song? Who berated her overly conventional choice of Halloween costume? She was sorry for the way things ended with Martin, but she wasn't sorry that she ended things.

Danny was obnoxious. He played a prank on her on her first day at the New York crime lab, which made her look like a complete fool in front of Mac. He never called her by her first name, but insisted on referring to her by her home state. He treated everything like a competition.

He teased her about her country upbringing. But everything he did, he did with a genuine smile, and she knew that there was no malice behind his jokes, no condescension in his voice when he teased her. He was trying to get her riled up, true, but he was also trying to get her to smile. After a while, it was easier to smile around him. His smile – in addition to turning her insides to jelly – was contagious. She couldn't help but be in a good mood around him.

He held the door open for her, but she sensed that he didn't do it out of obligation. He did it to be polite – or because it made sense, in that he was closer to the door. He let her pick the radio stations whenever they went to a scene, and he never switched away in the middle of her favorite songs. He'd chuckle and shake his head as she sang along with the lyrics. On the rare days she was off sick, he would call her and give her a detailed recap of what had happened that day, including his thoughts on why Hawkes needed a girlfriend. He let her run with her ideas, and he never took credit for them. He always gave her credit.

He was never rude to the salespeople. He always tipped their bartenders. He bought her drinks almost every time they went out to the bar, and he never expected anything in return – at least, he never said anything about it. He brought her coffee in the morning, and he knew exactly the way she liked it. If he was going to order takeout because a case required overtime, he asked her if she wanted anything. He offered to walk her home on nights they worked late, so she wouldn't be walking the dark streets alone. Her six-month anniversary at the lab, he bought her a New York City guidebook; she already had one, but it was the thought that counted.

But the thing that struck her most happened when one of the people in the coroner's office retired. There was a big party, and everyone in the NYPD was invited. Lindsay was out on assignment when it started, and by the time she managed to get to the party, the cake was all gone. She dejectedly walked over to the drink table to pour herself a soda when Danny appeared at her elbow. He was hiding something under his jacket.

"Here, Montana," he said, pulling a plate out from under the lapel. "I saved you the last piece of cake."

Damn it.


	6. 5: Strong

**A/N: Some jackass actually had the gall to break up with my younger sister in the same manner that Colt breaks up with Lindsay. If I hadn't been in Ohio at the time, I totally would have kicked this kid's ass from here to Mars.**

**References 3x05 but is not technically a spoiler. The part that I mention was in the preview for the episode.**

**In regards to the injury Danny sustained while playing baseball. In 1x23, "The Closer," Danny tells Aiden that he got into a bar fight and broke his wrist, and that's why he became a CSI. In real life, Carmine hurt his back, and that's why he couldn't play baseball anymore.**

**Thanks to Cyko and Spunky for the beta. **

**Oh, and Cyko? I am not Canadian! That's why the words are spelled the way they are. Learn it, love it.**

**

* * *

Chapter 5: Strong**

"_**Motorcycle engines are no match for the power of Danny Messer's biceps."**_

_**- Jaime Poland**_

_

* * *

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_5. He must be strong._

Colt was a football player. And he was a good one – by high school standards, of course. He was always attempted to prove just how strong and tough he was. In his warped little mind, it wasn't a good day or a successful practice unless he'd knocked at least one person unconscious. Lindsay reminded him that he was a wide receiver, and technically not supposed to tackle anyone, but he brushed her off by saying that every position required the ability to tackle. Lindsay would roll her eyes but smile and nod.

One time, he ended up breaking the tight end's arm. How he ended up breaking the arm of someone who was on his own team was something Lindsay never bothered to ask.

"He was in my way," Colt said, by way of explanation.

"But he's on your team," Lindsay reminded him.

Colt shrugged. "Then he should've known not to get in my way."

And though she would never willingly admit this, his overt displays of masculinity were quite arousing. He was always pumped after practice. Football season was when they had their most heated make-out sessions – usually under the bleachers. He would grab her after cheerleading practice and pull her along the track until they were hidden from view.

He could lift her easily, and he often did. He'd pick her up in the hallway and twirl her around, or give her piggyback rides between classes.

His favorite game at the carnival was the 'test your strength' game. They were sometimes there for an hour, waiting until he could ring the bell and win her that dumb little stuffed bear.

But he lacked strength where it mattered most. It didn't matter how big his biceps were, or the fact that he had a six-pack. He wasn't strong enough to look her in the eye and break up with her. He was always out to prove his masculinity, but he couldn't suck it up and be a man – tell her to her face that it was over.

No. Instead, she got a note in her locker.

_Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You. Later, babe._

Lindsay cried over him, yes, because she thought she was in love with him. But one of her first thoughts upon reading the note was, "What a pussy."

Dexter was an 'artist.' He hadn't exactly been strong – at least, not physically – but he was no weakling. He could lift her up and carry her around in the same way that Colt had. But while Colt's were playful, Dexter's were possessive. Lindsay sometimes believed that Dexter picked her up and carried her to bed, not as a romantic gesture, but so that she couldn't escape.

He was rough, but never violent. He tended to get more belligerent after quite a few beers; he threw a couple punches at some random bar patron at least twice a week. Whether or not he was trying to prove his masculinity was something Lindsay never figured out.

One time, he got in a particularly heated argument with a young man over one of the books their were reading for their literature class. Lindsay wasn't paying attention to what they were saying, but suddenly fists were flying and the bouncer was kicking Dexter out of the bar.

"Can you believe that guy?" Dexter asked, as he rubbed his eye gingerly.

"So he thought _Catcher in the Rye_ is overrated," Lindsay said. "It doesn't mean you had to punch him."

She never found his displays of testosterone arousing – she found them ridiculous. She wasn't sure if he was trying to assert his masculinity, or if he was simply trying to prove that he had some. He always threw the first punch, but he also always got his ass kicked. More than once she had to drag him out of the bar before they got thrown out.

And what manly man couldn't be physically lugged from the bar by his girlfriend, who was a good head shorter and probably eighty pounds lighter?

They only went to the carnival once, and Dexter avoided the games on principle. He said that they were crooked, and he wasn't going to buy into the capitalists' attempt to take over the world. She was fairly certain he avoided them because he knew he would lose.

He considered himself to be emotionally strong, and maybe he was. He had to be pretty secure to even consider cheating on Lindsay in her own bed. No doubt about it, that guy had some cajones. Of course, he didn't have the stones to stop Lindsay from slashing the tires on his bike.

Lindsay watched him throw a hissy fit from the window of her apartment. What a wuss.

Martin was a wimp. There was no denying that. He had enough upper body strength to lift his field kit to about waist height, and that was where his physical strength ended. He told her once that he could bench-press one-eighty; she wondered if he meant grams or ounces. He certainly didn't mean pounds. Otherwise, he would've been able to lift her, and he couldn't. She would never admit it, but she missed that about Colt and Dexter. She missed being swept up in their arms. It was such a passionate gesture.

When they went to the carnival, Martin stuck with the games of chance rather than strength. Once, Lindsay tried to convince him into attempting the 'test your strength' game, but Martin staunchly refused.

"Games like that enforce the stereotype that a man has to be on steroids in order to feel adequate," Martin said, as they stood at the 'pick your color' wheel for the fortieth spin.

"It's just for fun," Lindsay said.

"I don't need to do anything like that to prove to myself that I'm a man." He put a quarter on indigo.

Lindsay had to bite her tongue. She didn't want to start an argument, but the fact that he wouldn't even try didn't prove that he was secure with his manhood. Just the opposite, in fact. If he was secure in his masculinity, he would have no problems at least giving the silly game a shot.

One thing about Martin – he was secure with his emotions. He had the guts to propose to her when she was quite obviously not interested in marriage, though there was some argument as to whether that was strength or stupidity. And he was strong enough not to cry in front of her when she turned him down as gently as she could.

She also didn't want to seem shallow, or that she was stuck in some sort of Puritanical view of the world where the man was in charge, but she hated the idea that it didn't seem as though Martin could protect her. She could take care of herself, to be sure, but sometimes it was nice to just…be the woman.

With Martin, she had to be both the woman and the man. It was annoying. And slightly weird.

Danny… Well… It was quite obvious from the get-go that Danny was strong. One look at his biceps and there was no denying that fact. Lindsay tried not to stare and couldn't help herself. Those arms – they were like pornography. He had to go to the gym, or work out, to get arms like that, but he never seemed to have the time. Could he really have just been born with such orgasmic arms?

Lindsay didn't even want to get started on what his chest must look like under those tight-fitting polo shirts he liked to wear. She would have choked on her own drool.

He never resorted to the overt displays of masculinity that Colt and Dexter had been so fond of, but he never shied away from them the way that Martin had. No, Danny was the type of guy who would eat worms just because some snotty chef had implied that he wasn't man enough to eat them. But he was also the type of guy who could easily run down and tackle suspects. He was the type of guy who didn't give a second thought to chasing a guy on a moving motorcycle and dragging him to the ground.

When he wanted to prove he was a man, he didn't throw a punch, but he didn't walk away. He stood his ground. He used words rather than fists or force. He got in the person's face, and there was something incredibly arousing about the fire that lit his eyes when he was angry. Lindsay tried to ignore it.

He was strong enough to admit when he was wrong. She loved trying to prove him wrong, and she knew that he loved trying to prove her wrong in turn. She took him to Cozy's to rub it in his face that she knew something about Mac that he didn't.

"Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought," she said, barely able to keep the satisfied smile off of her face.

Danny just stared at her, obviously amused. "That's a different way of saying, 'I told you so,'" he said.

"Just say you were wrong, Messer, and we can move on with our lives."

"Fine, Montana. I. Was. Wrong. Happy now?" She laughed and said that she was. He shook his head. "Savor the flavor. It doesn't happen often."

He could lift her quite easily, even though she knew it must irritate his arm – Stella had told her that he injured it when he played baseball. He carried her across a rooftop as though she weighed nothing. There was no denying it – he'd be able to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bedroom.

The thing that struck her most was when he drove her home from the hospital after Flack was injured in the explosion. He killed the engine, and they sat outside her apartment building for a while, just staring out the windshield. She couldn't believe how strong he was; after everything he'd been through over the past few weeks, and he was still a rock. She knew it was an act, but the fact that he managed to keep it together was inspiring.

"Flack will be okay," she said. The dejected look on his face made her want to kiss his pain away.

Danny nodded, and then, quite suddenly, he broke down. She reacted instinctively, sliding across the seat to take him in her arms. His came around her, and however inappropriate it was, she immediately thought of how safe and protected the felt in the circle of his arms. Here was a man who was able to protect her, yet still needed her to protect him.

Crap.


	7. 6: Honest

**A/N: THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME REACH 100 REVIEWS! I have NEVER written anything that's gotten 100 reviews!**

**Thanks to Boleyn for the beta.**

**

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Chapter 6: Honest **

"_**Please don't lie to me, unless you're absolutely sure I'll never find out the truth."**_

_**Ashleigh Brilliant**_

_

* * *

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy: _

_6. He must be honest._

Colt was one sneaky son of a bitch. Lindsay didn't really notice it at first, but she started paying attention when she realized that he cheated on half of his tests. She was surprised to learn that, considering how abysmal his grades were. Lindsay wasn't sure which was worse – the fact that he was a cheater, or that he wasn't even good at it.

He was always exaggerating his escapades, but she always assumed it was because he was trying to impress her. He'd brag about the number of tackles that he had, when he was a wide receiver and didn't actually tackle anyone. He embellished the number of touchdown catches he had. He often told stories of breaking into his parents' liquor cabinet or sneaking out and stealing the family car. She suspected some of those may have had elements of truth to them, but that most of the time he was completely full of it.

She often wondered if he said the things he said because he meant them, or because he wanted to get into her pants. But she didn't start to wonder this until it was obvious that he had only been trying to sleep with her. While they were dating, however, she'd thought him kind and sweet because he used to leave little notes in her locker telling her how pretty she'd looked that day.

She didn't want to admit that she spent more time in the bathroom while they were dating because she desperately wanted to look nice for him. He never noticed the things she wanted him to notice – like the way her favorite blouse brought out the gold flecks in her eyes, or the way her old faded jeans hugged her hips. He never said anything about those things. It was always about her appearance in general.

He did use to ramble on about the color of her eyes. "Like chocolate," he would say. "So good I just want to eat them up." It never bothered her that he used to talk about eating her eyes. Who wants to eat eyes? It made her giggle and swoon and fall in love with him.

She talked a lot about her future. She wanted to be a CSI more than anything. He didn't really understand what a CSI was. "But you'll be awesome at whatever you do, Lindsay," he said.

He told her that he loved her. She wore his letter jacket. He told her they'd be together forever. He gave her his class ring. He said all the right things. He stole half his lines from movies, but she was too polite to say anything about that.

Then she heard him say the same damn things to Heather McCreevey. Jackass.

Dexter was a little too honest for Lindsay's taste. Sometimes, he could be downright mean. Lindsay actually didn't mind little white lies, if the alternative was feeling like an unattractive cow. For instance, she really didn't need to know that her calves looked like tree trunks in her favorite clubbing skirt – especially since she didn't think so. However, she always felt self-conscious whenever she wore that skirt, wondering if other people thought her legs looked fat in it.

"Do they really look that bad?" she asked him every time she wore it.

"Yeah, you really need to lay off the ice cream," he would say. Every time. Jackass.

She did lay off the ice cream – and most other foods. Her friends intervened before it got too serious. They told her not to listen to a damn thing Dexter said.

He rarely told her she looked pretty. She did have a few outfits – a silver halter that accentuated her cleavage and her little black dress that she accidentally shrunk in the wash – that when she wore them, he didn't say anything bad. But not saying anything bad wasn't the same as saying something good, and deep down, she knew that.

She gave up trying with him. When she dressed up, or actually put some effort into her appearance, it was because she needed to feel good about herself, not because she was trying to look good for him. He never noticed anything anyway. She suspected that the only time he would ever compliment her on her outfit was if she showed up at his apartment in her birthday suit. And probably not even then.

When he got drunk, he liked to boast. He used to brag about things he had never done. Once he claimed he had jumped a gorge on his motorcycle, when in fact they had recently seen a movie where the main character had done that. He would recount his numerous tales of debauchery, which she sadly suspected were true, and crow about the adventurous places the two of them had had sex. That was usually where Lindsay cut him off, as most of the stories weren't true, and she didn't want people to think she was some kind of brazen hussy.

He told her he loved her. She knew he was lying the moment the words escaped his lips. Dexter didn't know what love was. He said the words because she wanted to hear them, not because he meant them.

"Oh. Yeah. I love you. Sure." She wasn't stupid. She knew that wasn't sincere. Especially since there was no emotion in his tone – not even vocal inflections to indicate that he in any way gave a shit about what he was saying.

So she wasn't at all surprised that he cheated on her. It still hurt like a bitch, but sadly, it wasn't unexpected.

Martin almost always told the truth. He was slightly more polite about it than Dexter, and Lindsay suspected that the man was actually physically incapable of lying. It amazed her, in a way, because he didn't have much of a backbone. She'd imagined him to be the type of guy who told her what she wanted to hear because he was afraid of starting a fight. Because, seriously, she could take him, if it ever came to that.

But, like Dexter, he was too honest for his own good. It annoyed her to no end. One of her favorite movies was _Say Anything_. She had a secret fantasy that the man of her dreams would stand outside her window with a stereo blasting "In Your Eyes," which in her opinion was one of the greatest songs ever written. She forced Martin to watch it with her once, and then afterwards, she made the mistake of asking him what he thought. He went on about the inconsistencies in the filming, the errors in the story, and the ridiculous premise.

"It makes people believe that they can fall in love at first sight," Martin said, somewhat impatiently, "when that is simply not possible."

Lindsay personally didn't believe in love at first sight either, but she liked the idea, and he didn't need to be pissing all over her favorite movie. "Can't you just watch the movie and suspend your disbelief?"

He stared at her. "Of course not."

To add insult to injury, he hated "In Your Eyes." Lindsay almost couldn't look at him after that. Jackass.

Whenever he commented on her attire, he was very specific. "That dress makes your waist look slimmer," he would say. "That shirt accentuates your arms quite nicely." She almost missed Colt's generic compliments. It was nice to just hear, "You look very pretty tonight." She liked the idea that her waist looked slimmer in a certain dress, but it made her wonder what she must look like on a daily basis, and she hated that. Couldn't she just be pretty, damn it?

Usually when he boasted about his accomplishments, he had reason to, because they were true. He never embellished his achievements. He never admitted to anything that he hadn't actually done. She suspected he continually brought these up to impress her, and she didn't have the heart to tell him that his having won the science fair in seventh grade didn't quite do it for her.

He told her that he loved her, and she knew that he meant it. After all, the man couldn't lie. It wasn't possible. She was the liar in that relationship, because when she returned the sentiment, she didn't mean one word. She didn't feel it in her heart, and she almost couldn't get the words out. She didn't want to be a liar.

Danny was a hard man to read. He seemed like a genuine guy, and she wanted to believe the things he said. But it was hard to ignore the gossip around the water cooler. It was hard to discount the rumors that the lab techs used to whisper in the break room – about how Danny was a player and would say anything to get a girl in bed. Lindsay didn't put much stock in idle gossip – for that's what it was, gossip – but it was hard to forget it, once she'd heard it.

Of course, she never got the impression that he was just trying to get her into bed, either. If he were attempting to do that, he was going about it the wrong way. Also, he would've eventually given up, because she wasn't budging. She wouldn't.

She could hear the sincerity in his voice, though. Sincerity was something that was difficult to fake – but not impossible. After all, she'd believe Colt when he told her he loved her. But she knew right away that there was something different about Danny. Maybe it was the way he actually said the things he said – the light in his eyes, the softness of his smile – that had her believing him.

His compliments came out as jokes. She suspected that Danny Messer was not a guy who put his heart on his sleeve. She sensed that he was afraid to be sincere with a woman, because that might lead to monogamy – which was apparently a four-letter word to him, if she were to believe the things she heard in the lab.

He had definitely done a double take that night in the subway tunnel. "Well, hello, Miss Monroe," he said. "Wow… You clean up nice."

She loved that dress she'd worn. The color looked amazing on her, and the dress gave the impression that she actually had cleavage. She had been trying to impress the guy with whom she'd gone to the opera, but she blushed upon knowing that Danny had such a nice reaction to it. He'd certainly had a better reaction than the guy she'd been out with, who hadn't given her dress so much as a second glance before stating that they'd be late if they didn't hurry. Seeing the look in Danny's eyes as she walked up to him in that dress… She was suddenly thrilled that Mac's page had interrupted her date.

She didn't quite know how to take his "marriage proposal." It was a joke, but generally all the nice things he said to her followed that same format. She smiled in response and said nothing. She honestly didn't know what to say.

Whether or not his accomplishments were exaggerated was open for debate. She didn't want to ask because she didn't want it to get back to him – making it seem as though she doubted his honesty. But could he really have been such a talented baseball player and musician, in addition to graduating the police academy top of his class? She'd seen him play baseball during their interdepartmental games – the crime lab always kicked ass – but had never borne witness to his musical ability. She wondered, if it were true, what instrument he had played. She hoped it wasn't the guitar. She had a weakness for guys who played guitar.

He spoke his mind, but he wasn't obnoxious about it. It was a complete contradiction to all the stories she'd heard about brash, loudmouth New Yorkers. He was brash and loudmouthed, to be sure, but he was…Danny. She couldn't think of a better way to describe him. He was Danny, pure and simple.

What struck her most was when they were listening to the radio on the way back from a crime scene. She was flipping through the stations, attempting to find music they could both agree on, since they had such varying tastes. She caught the first few chords of "In Your Eyes" and momentarily stopped, but she switched it away, figuring that he wouldn't like that song.

"Flip it back," he said. "I like that song."

She switched the station back and stared at him. "Never figured you for a romantic, Messer," she said.

He shrugged. "It's a good song. Maybe greatest song ever written."

She cocked an eyebrow, certain that he was messing with her. "Seriously?"

He turned to look at her. "I don't lie, Montana."

She didn't doubt it for a moment.

When he apologized, he meant it. When he complimented her on her investigative skills, he meant it. So logically, he probably meant it when he told her she looked nice…

…or when he said they had chemistry.

Jackass.


	8. 7: Romantic

**A/N: Doing something a little different with this chapter. Otherwise, it would be very short and repetitive. As it is, it's longer than some of my one-shots. I'm sure you're all disappointed.**

**_La Petite Soleil – _the Little Sun**

**Grimaldi's Pizzeria is a real place, and it's really in Brooklyn. And it is the best pizza in the world.**

**Additional A/N at the end.**

**

* * *

Chapter 7: Romantic**

**_"Romance is dead. It was acquired in a hostile takeover by Hallmark and Disney, homogenized, and sold off piece by piece."_**

_**- Lisa Simpson**_

_

* * *

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_7. He must be romantic._

Colt and Lindsay were not yet officially a couple, though they had been 'dating' for much of the summer. Lindsay didn't want to start telling people they were together until she had some kind of proof. Her friends would never believe that they were boyfriend and girlfriend unless there was some tangible evidence. Everyone knew they had gone out on dates, but they hadn't declared themselves exclusive yet.

It was early August – a beautiful night in Montana. It had been a warm day, but there was a bit of a breeze, making the air chilly. Colt told Lindsay to make sure she dressed warm for their date, and she was just finishing getting ready when he knocked on the front door. She bade her father good night and followed Colt down the sidewalk to his beat-up truck in the drive.

He opened the door for her, but it took quite an effort to haul herself into the truck. She wasn't short, but Colt had switched out the truck's regular wheels for monster wheels. She told him once or twice that she needed some sort of stepladder to get in, but he just laughed it off.

She asked, again, where they were going, but he just shook his head. "It's a surprise," he said.

They ended up in the middle of Collins Field – a large, empty patch of land on the back of the Collins' property where the neighborhood kids liked to play baseball and soccer in the summer and football in the fall. She just looked at Colt when she saw where he was headed; they weren't official yet, and Collins Field was where a lot of couples came to…park.

Colt threw the truck in park and hopped out. He scrambled over to the passenger side and helped Lindsay down from her seat. Then he made his way to the bed of the truck and climbed over the side. Her jerked his head at her, indicating that she come around to the side. "C'mere."

When she was close enough, he began handing things to her – a couple of blankets, a picnic basket, some candles… She stared at each item in shock as he pulled them from the truck's storage compartment. "What's all this?"

He smiled at her. "We're having a picnic."

He spread the blankets out on the ground, then gently took the picnic basket from her and began to unpack it. The picnic basket, Lindsay discovered, contained not only plates and utensils, but also Colt's idea of a feast – peanut butter sandwiches, sodas, a bag of chips, and a package of oatmeal raisin cookies. Lindsay was so touched by the gesture that she didn't bother to point out that she hated oatmeal and raisins, and therefore thought them to be a sorry excuse for a cookie.

The picnic basket also contained a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers, which Lindsay recognized as having come from the patch by the side of her driveway. Colt handed these to Lindsay with a grin as he set up their 'table.'

He set the candles on top of the now-closed basket and lit them with the lighter he always kept in his pocket, then gestured that she have a seat on the blanket. They ate their dinner in near silence. Lindsay was too nervous to say anything; she was almost too nervous to eat, but she choked down her sandwich and soda with an uncomfortable smile. She knew what coming to Collins Field signaled, and she knew she wasn't ready for that. She'd told Colt that she wouldn't…do…that…until she was ready.

When they had both eaten, and the plates and silverware had been packed away, Colt shuffled closer to her. "Look up," he said.

She did. Collins Field was in the middle of nowhere – far from the lights of town. The sky was a blue-black, and the stars had come out to play. It was a clear night, and she could see into eternity. She leaned backward, the better to stare, and ended up flat on her back on the blanket. Colt stretched out beside her.

"I know you like, you know, science and stuff," Colt said, gesturing at the sky with a sweep of his arm. "I read in the paper that there's some meteor shower tonight, and – "

Lindsay lolled her head to the side to look at him. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. He met her gaze, and she captured his lips in a chaste kiss, then snuggled closer to him.

They watched the sky for a while, pointing out when they happened to see a falling star. Eventually, Lindsay draped her arm over Colt's chest, but her wrist hit something hard in his shirt pocket. She sat up abruptly. "What was that?" she asked, rubbing her wrist.

Colt also sat up. "It's, uh…my class ring," he said, pulling the box out of his pocket. She gasped involuntarily, hoping that his bringing the ring meant what she thought it meant. "I was wondering if you maybe wanted to, you know, wear it."

She answered without thinking, practically launching herself at him. "Of course!"

Four months later, in the same field, she gave him something much more important than a ring. And the next day, he broke up with her. Son of a bitch.

Dexter and Lindsay had been dating approximately two months and had yet to do anything that could in any way be considered a date. Most of their outings consisted of going to the same dingy bar and then going back to Dexter's apartment. Lindsay felt less like a girlfriend and more like a bar buddy. She craved romance. She hadn't realized how much she wanted romance until she didn't have it at all. Colt stopped being hugely romantic after they became official, but at least he'd been romantic at all. Dexter didn't know the meaning of the word.

She complained about the fact that they never did anything loudly and often – to anyone who would listen. Anyone, of course, except Dexter. She assumed he wouldn't care, which was why she was very surprised, when he came to pick her up one evening, to find him behind the wheel of an old Vista Cruiser instead of on his motorcycle.

"Where's your bike?" she asked. She didn't get in the car. This had to be some kind of joke.

He shrugged. "I borrowed Ian's car for the night. Get in."

She thought she was going to die. Dexter could barely drive his motorcycle; of course he would be dangerous behind the wheel of a car. Lindsay was convinced she would have a heart attack before they ever arrived at wherever it was they were going. She gripped the door handle so hard her knuckles turned white.

Where they were going, apparently, was the old drive-in theater on the outskirts of town. Lindsay couldn't remember the last time she'd been to the drive-in. She honestly didn't think the place was still open. Dexter pulled into the lot and Lindsay glanced at the marquee. The drive-in was showing a horror movie double feature – _Halloween_ and _Friday the Thirteenth_. Lindsay felt her insides churn. She hated slasher flicks. It wasn't that blood made her squeamish, or that she couldn't stomach the gore… Those sorts of movies dredged up unpleasant memories – memories she wasn't yet ready to deal with.

Dexter loved those sorts of movies. He always rented them, and even though she never wanted to watch, he ended up making her. She suspected it was because she usually ended up burying her face in his chest for the majority of the movie, trying to block out the screaming and the horrible sound of gushing blood that had haunted her nightmares since the age of eleven.

She turned to look at Dexter. "Can't we come here on another night?"

He shook his head. "This is the last night they're showing these two, and since it's Tuesday, it's half-price. Besides, these are my favorite movies." He looked at her. "You should know that."

She had to bite her tongue. She knew they were his favorite movies. He'd seen them at least a dozen times each. And she had been complaining that they never actually did anything on their dates. She sighed and leaned back against the seat. Maybe she could tune out the screams and try and focus on something else.

Dexter maneuvered the car through the lot until he found a space to park. He turned to Lindsay again. "Do you want popcorn or anything?"

She raised her eyebrows. Dexter was so cheap, she was amazed that he hadn't popped his own popcorn beforehand and brought it with him. And she couldn't remember the last time he'd offered to pay for anything; usually, she was the one who picked up the tab. She shook her head. Anything she ate would come right back up soon anyway. Better to keep her stomach empty. "No, thank you."

"Your loss."

He returned about fifteen minutes later with his arms full of every movie snack known to man. As soon as the smell hit her nose, Lindsay felt sick to her stomach. She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, taking slow, deep breaths of fresh air so that she wouldn't get sick.

"Hey, no puking in the Vista Cruiser," Dexter said. "Ian'll kick my ass."

Lindsay rolled her eyes and brought a hand to her forehead. Son of a bitch.

Not watching did not help. Lindsay had been forced to sit through the movies enough times to quite vividly picture what was happening on the screen, even though her eyes were tightly closed. Dexter's random interjections just made things worse.

"Whoa! Look at all that blood! It's a lot better on the big screen."

When the torture was finally over, Dexter drove Lindsay home. One of the fraternities on her street was having a party, so there was no good place to pull off to the side of the road to let her out. And rather than driving around the block, he just pulled into a random driveway, nearly two blocks from her apartment.

She opened the door and started to climb out of the car, only then noticing that the car was idling, the engine still running. She looked at him expectantly.

"What?"

She furrowed her brow. "You aren't going to walk me to my door?"

He shook his head. "It's only two blocks. You'll be fine."

She sighed and slid out of the car. She made sure to slam the door as hard as she could. She ran the rest of the way.

Martin and Lindsay had been dating six months, and Lindsay was already bored. She knew how horrible that must sound, but it was the truth. Martin was dull. He was predictable. Sixth months they'd been dating, and they already had a routine. They had three typical dates that they went on, and they just rotated.

Date number one was dinner – whether they went out to a restaurant or one of them cooked…usually Lindsay. Martin couldn't cook. Date number two was a movie – whether they went and saw one at the theater or rented one. Every other time, Lindsay got to pick, as they had very different taste in movies. Date number three was some sort of educational outing – Martin liked to drag her to a lot of lectures at Montana State, though he sometimes took her to the art gallery. Lindsay almost never enjoyed these; occasionally, the lectures were interesting, but she despised them on principle, because going to a lecture should not be considered a date.

They never deviated from the routine. To do so would bring about Armageddon. Or so Martin must have thought, the way he so strictly stuck to their schedule. He never would have taken her on a picnic to go stargazing, or even borrowed a friend's car to take her to the drive-in, despite the fact that those two activities technically fell under his requirements for their dates. He never would have taken her on a picnic because he was allergic to everything under the sun. He never would have taken her to the drive-in because he thought the whole concept was outdated and impractical.

Lindsay hated the lack of spontaneity in their relationship. She liked having a plan, true, but there was something to be said for just up and doing something because she felt like it. Spontaneity was romantic. She needed the romance.

Their six-month anniversary happened to fall on a night that had been designated for date number three. Lindsay was not looking forward to it at all. She knew that there was some ornithologist in town giving a lecture on how it was entirely possible that dinosaurs had evolved into birds, and she knew that Martin wanted to go.

So when Martin showed up at her door in a suit and tie – far too formal of attire to wear to a lecture – she was taken aback.

"I thought we were going to the lecture," she said, nearly gasping in surprise as he handed her an extravagant bouquet of red roses. She immediately turned and went into the kitchen to put the roses in a vase.

"It's our six-month anniversary," said Martin. "Go upstairs and change into your blue dress. I've made reservations at _La Petite Soleil_."

_La Petit Soleil_ was the nicest restaurant in town and therefore the most expensive. It was the typical date place – for anniversaries, Valentine's Day, pre-prom dinners, and proposals. Everyone went there, because it was the only place to go. Lindsay had never been there. She grinned and dashed up the stairs to change out of her khakis and the sweater she'd been wearing. She was halfway through pulling on her blue dress when she realized that Martin had told her what to wear. She went to her closet and pulled out the pale green dress she'd bought on a whim – it was a tad snug, but it enhanced her cleavage quite nicely, and there was a slit on the right leg that went all the way up to mid-thigh.

She made her grand entrance down the stairs and twirled around once, showing off the dress.

Martin narrowed his eyes. "I told you to wear your blue dress," he said. "This is a classy place."

Lindsay scowled. Son of a bitch. She grabbed her purse from the table and stalked past him and out the door. "Well, I don't have time to change again," she said. "So let's just go."

Her excitement at going to a restaurant to which she'd never been quickly faded. As soon as they stepped through the doors into the waiting area, she realized that _La Petite Soleil_ was just another restaurant. It looked the same as every other restaurant in Bozeman – the tables looked the same, the same overplayed classical musical was filtering through the speakers, the same fake trees were scattered around the floor, and the same replica paintings hung on the wall.

She did feel a bit giddy when she noticed that several of the guys in the restaurant turned to stare at her as the hostess led she and Martin to their table.

Dinner was a boring affair, as it usually was with Martin. The polite small talk they always engaged in soon morphed into one of Martin's semi-rants about the incompetence of their lab techs. Lindsay nodded robotically and interjected one-word comments at the appropriate pauses in Martin's speech, suddenly wishing that they had just gone to the damn lecture instead. At least then, Martin wouldn't be able to talk.

When Martin took her home, she knew he would want to stay the night. She didn't feel up to it, but she invited him in anyway.

Later that night, when Martin was asleep, Lindsay climbed out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the table, staring at the bouquet Martin had gotten her.

Roses, she decided, were terribly overrated.

Danny had been annoying Lindsay for eight months. Eight months of the not-so-subtle flirting, the constant asking her out for lunch, the calling her 'Montana,' and the intense gazes that made Lindsay's stomach turn to jelly. They had technically been on two dates, though neither referred to their outings as such. Cozy's was Lindsay's way of saying "I told you so," and the bug dinner had been intended for the entire team.

Lindsay hadn't told anyone it was her birthday. She hated birthdays. She hated being the center of attention. She hated the constant reminder that she wasn't getting any younger. So she kept that little piece of information to herself. The only person who could possibly know that it was her birthday was Mac, and she knew he wouldn't spread it around.

She and Danny had been working a nasty case about a teenage girl who brutally killed her rival because she didn't want the other girl to be Prom Queen. Lindsay was in a particularly bad mood after interrogating the snotty, pompous girl, and all she wanted to do was go back to her apartment and soak in a hot bath.

So when the two of them returned to their shared office, she began gathering up her stuff to leave. Danny sat on her desk, effectively forcing her to stop.

"Danny, please," she said, not caring how petulant she sounded. "I just want to go home."

He shook his head. "Nah. We're going out to dinner."

She looked at him, incredulous. "We're what?"

He flashed her one of those smiles that made her powerless, slid off the desk, and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. "I said we're going to dinner. And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

She expected that they would just go to a nearby restaurant – there were plenty around the crime lab – but he led her to the subway, keeping a death grip on her hand, preventing her from escaping. She asked several times just what in the hell he thought he was doing. He just laughed and told her to trust him.

They ended up at a pizzeria in Brooklyn. Lindsay glanced up at the name as Danny ushered her through the front door – Grimaldi's Pizzeria. He only let go of her hand once they were standing in front of the hostess's podium.

The hostess couldn't have been older than eighteen, but she was looking at Danny in a way that instantly made Lindsay want to leap over the counter and throttle her. "Hi, Danny," the girl said, shyly glancing away and giggling. "Usual table?"

Danny's 'usual table' was a two-top in one of the back corners, near the fireplace. Lindsay couldn't ever remember seeing a fireplace in a pizza place before, but her eyes continued to be focused on the teenage bimbo who made sure to 'casually' brush Danny's hand as she handed him the wine list. When the girl finally left, exaggeratedly swaying her hips as she walked, Lindsay said, "She seems to know you."

Danny shrugged, no trace of embarrassment on his face. "Everyone knows me. I come here a lot – best pizza in the world."

Lindsay soon discovered that everyone at the restaurant did seem to know him. Their waiter, a college-age kid with a faux-hawk, also greeted Danny by name. Rather than ordering them a bottle of wine, as Lindsay suspected, Danny ordered a beer for himself and an amaretto sour for her.

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. Amaretto sour was her favorite drink. "Are you stalking me or something?" she asked with a smile.

He winked. "I remember things."

It was, indeed, the best pizza in the world. Lindsay had never had such amazing pizza. The crust – Lindsay's favorite part of a pizza – was thin and crispy and incredibly delicious; Danny explained that it was the coal brick-ovens they used. Even though she hadn't been hungry, they ended up polishing off the entire pizza, and before she knew it, they'd been at the restaurant for over an hour. It certainly didn't feel as though it had been that long. She and Danny had been regaling each other with their most unusual cases – Danny had quite a few, but he declared, after hearing some of her stories, that Lindsay definitely had him beat.

She was staring at the menu, which was on the placemat, debating whether or not to order dessert – she'd always wanted to try cannolis – when she happened to catch the song that was playing. "I love this song," she said.

"Wanna dance?"

She glanced up at Danny. She hadn't even realized that she'd spoken out loud. Her eyes darted around the restaurant; it was late, and the place was nearly empty, save for them and a few other patrons. She turned back to Danny. "No one else is dancing," she said, hoping that was a good enough excuse.

"So?"

Ah, yes. She'd forgotten common sense didn't work on Danny Messer. She fumbled for another excuse, but Danny again grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. His other hand rested on her hip, then slowly slid around to the small of her back, gently pulling her closer. Her other hand automatically went to his shoulder, listening to the frantic beating of her heart rather than the excuses in her brain.

They danced for a while, and Lindsay desperately trying to calm her racing heart. The song changed abruptly, the voice sounding different, the sound getting louder. She looked up at Danny and saw that he was softly singing along. Not just singing along – singing to her. He was staring not at some random point off in the distance, but right at her.

Dammit.

She had never heard him sing when he was sober. He actually had a fairly decent voice. And the way he was looking at her, combined with the fact that the hand on her back had managed to find its way under her shirt when she wasn't paying attention, was enough to send her frazzled brain into overdrive. She must be going crazy, because she suddenly wanted to kiss Danny Messer.

She abruptly pulled away, stepping out of the warmth of his arms. "We'd better start back," she said, practically tripping over the words in her haste to spit them out as quickly as possible. She had to clear her throat, because the voice that just escaped her lips did not sound like her at all. "It's getting late."

Danny licked his lips, and her eyes were riveted on the action. Every time he did that, she couldn't help thinking about all the other things she wanted that tongue to be doing. She shook her head to clear the images, because Danny was speaking.

"Sure, Lindsay," he said. "I'll just take care of the check, and we can go."

She started to protest – if he paid, then this would be a date, and she didn't want it to be a date – but he was already gone. She sighed and put her head in her hands. This was not good.

They walked outside of the restaurant. The evening was cool – brisk but not chilly. Spring was in the air. Danny took a deep breath and then turned to her. "Want to walk back?"

She balked. "Are you kidding me?"

He shrugged. "It's not that far. C'mon… It's a nice night."

They walked. Lindsay had never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, but when they approached, she was very glad Danny had suggested this. The city was all lit up, and she stopped along the bridge to stare at the skyline. She felt Danny approach before she heard him; he came up beside her and mimicked her position – leaning against the railing.

"Beautiful," he said.

She nodded, her eyes on the skyline. "I must admit, I've never seen anything quite like it."

He turned to her, so that he was speaking directly in her ear. "I was talking about you."

She froze, her mind scrambling to come up with a response that didn't end in taking him right there on the bridge. "That line usually work for you, Messer?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did.

He licked his lips again. Dammit. "Probably," he said. "I wouldn't know. I've never used it before."

She backed away from the railing so quickly that she nearly stumbled, shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and started walking again. After a moment, Danny followed.

They walked the rest of the way back to the lab in silence. She was almost home free when they happened upon a tiny florists' shop that was, for some reason, still open, despite the late hour. Danny motioned for her to wait and dashed inside, emerging several minutes later with his hand behind his back.

"Danny," she said. But she couldn't think of a way to finish that sentence, because at that moment, Danny held out his purchase.

A single red tulip.

"Happy birthday, Lindsay," he said.

Speechless, Lindsay accepted the tulip.

Son of a bitch.

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A/N: Special thanks to Cyko for the beta (and the very encouraging comments) and Spunky for all her help at 1:30 in the morning – Pacific time.**

**A red tulip is a declaration of love.**


	9. 8: Kiss

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up. I hope it was worth the wait. **

Bryant Park, for those who are interested, is just behind the main branch of the New York Public Library. The Summer Film Festival is a real thing.

In _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, Fred is Holly Golightly's (Audrey Hepburn) brother. She receives the telegram about three-quarters of the way through the movie.

Thanks to Spunky for the beta.

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Chapter 8: Kiss

**_"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly then even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender."  
- Emil Ludwig_**

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_Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:_

_8. He must be a good kisser._

Colt and Lindsay were not yet officially 'dating' and were on one of their group dates with the rest of their friends. Usually, they went miniature golfing or to the movies, but they'd taken a chance and gone to the Highwayman – one of the local bars. Depending on the bartender, they could sometimes get served. Tonight, it seemed, they would not be so lucky. The bartender on shift was the most anal-retentive son of a bitch in the world. No way in hell was he about to serve a bunch of minors. So Lindsay, Colt, and their friends ordered some Cokes and made their way to the back of the bar.

Miraculously, one of the pool tables was just being vacated as they convened in the back of the room. Colt and the other boys quickly laid claim to it before someone else could and decided to play a couple of games. Lindsay and her friends wandered over to a table nearby, out of the boys' earshot, in order to better discuss them. Most of the discussion revolved around the fact that Colt and Lindsay had not yet kissed. Lindsay patiently explained that she was waiting for the right moment, and that she didn't want to make the first move, but her friends could not believe that they had not yet taken that step when the attraction was so clearly mutual.

Lindsay shook her head. They just didn't get it. She wanted her first real kiss to be special. A person couldn't just plan for these sorts of things to happen. Planning took all the magic out of it. Planning cheapened the moment. She wanted it to just happen.

"Lindsay," Colt said suddenly, "you want to play?"

Lindsay looked at her friends before answering. They all gave her the same knowing look, and she couldn't help but wonder if they seriously shared the same brain. She giggled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "But I don't know how."

It was a total lie. She had three older brothers. She knew how to play pool. And surely Colt had to know that. But he didn't let on.

Colt shrugged. "It's not that hard. It's a lot like geometry. I can teach you if you like."

She highly doubted he could do any such thing. She'd seen his test scores in geometry. But she slapped on a flirtatious smile and did her best girlish giggle again. "Okay."

He broke but didn't sink any, and as she leaned over the table to line up her shot, she felt his arms snake around her. His hands covered hers on the pool cue, his chest pressed flush against her back, and when he spoke, it was directly into her ear.

She didn't expect Colt's way of teaching to be quite so…hands on, but she recognized this tactic. Her brothers had warned her about this. She steeled herself for the inevitable cheesy line.

"If I said you had a beautiful body," he breathed, and she shivered in spite of herself, "would you hold it against me?"

She didn't think she'd ever been this close to him. Not like this, anyway. It was incredible. Her skin tingled where he touched it, and her heart was beating a million miles a minute. But she couldn't get past that lame pick-up line. She shook her head, already tired of playing this game. She took her shot.

She sank the 9 ball in the corner pocket on a banking shot off the side of the table. She turned to smirk at Colt over her shoulder, and as soon as she did, she felt his lips press against hers.

Her heart fluttered. This was it, her first kiss. She wasn't sure what she expected, but she was positive she hadn't anticipated the way Colt would taste like mint, or the way his lips would move softly over hers. She'd heard that people used their tongues when they kissed, but Colt didn't. His kiss was a gentle caress, just his lips, and he brought his hands up to cup her face. She'd never realized how many nerve endings she had in her face until his fingers brushed against her cheeks.

When the kiss finally ended – and it seemed to last forever – Lindsay blinked and fought for her bearings. She could only stare at Colt. Then her knees gave out, and she nearly hit her head on the pool table. Luckily, Colt caught her in time.

"Whoa there, Linds," he laughed. "I didn't realize I was that good."

Lindsay opened her mouth to respond, but could think of nothing to say. She couldn't exactly contradict him after nearly fainting, but she could still try. "Actually, I think you kind of overdid it on the cologne."

His friends burst into hysterical laughter, and he flushed bright red. He released her and stalked over to the other side of the table. "You want to keep playing?"

"Sure," she said.

Her head was still spinning from the kiss, but she somehow managed to totally kick his ass.

Dexter used to stare at her in Criminal Psychology. He sat to her right and just behind her. She could almost feel his eyes on the back of her head. It made her feel giddy, knowing that he was looking at her. Colt never used to watch her in class; he used to play football with his homework. Maybe that was what attracted her to Dexter in the first place. The way he used to look at her. She never realized how wolfish, how possessive it was until later. But that look in his eyes that he got, staring at her in class, it was what prompted her to ask him out.

She had learned a thing or two in high school, so she made the first date a group event. There was a local band giving a concert at a bar down the street from her apartment; she'd heard them play a couple of times and thought that they were pretty decent. She didn't know much about Dexter's taste in music, but she figured if she made it a group thing, it wouldn't matter whether or not he liked the band. She invited a bunch of her sorority sisters and some of the guys who lived in the fraternity house across the street.

While Dexter was up at the bar ordering yet another beer, she took the opportunity to confer with her sisters. She confessed to them that she felt something akin to chemistry, but that they didn't have much in common. She got varied responses and went with the one she got the most – to kiss him and see how it felt.

She didn't know if she should kiss him. But then, she had asked him out. Her sisters tried to convince her that she should take the initiative, but she thought she'd taken enough of a risk asking him out in the first place. If he wanted to kiss her, he would kiss her.

When he came back from the bar, she saw that he'd bought her a drink, which she willingly accepted. Probably not the brightest idea she'd ever had, accepting a drink from a guy she barely knew, but she was underage and he wasn't. She wouldn't get served otherwise. She thanked him with a hand on his forearm and a bright smile.

"How are you liking the band?" she asked, gesturing at the stage with her glass. She turned back to him and saw that he was staring at her again. Or rather, staring at a particular part of her anatomy.

"I like them," he said. She didn't know if he meant the band or her breasts.

She needed a drink, and she needed it now. He'd brought her an apple martini; considering those were almost entirely alcohol, it would suffice. She ended up drinking it a lot faster than she'd intended. He bought her another one.

"What are you trying to do, get me drunk?" she asked, giggling. Once she'd finished that one, she left her empty glass on the table and headed out onto the dance floor.

Dexter followed her. She could feel him behind her. The idea excited her, and she couldn't understand why. Something about him thrilled her, made her want more. Being around him was intoxicating. So when he wrapped his arms around her stomach, she didn't protest. She breathed in the musky scent of his cologne and had to force herself not to lean back against his chest.

"That sweater is very becoming on you," he said. She glanced down at the sweater she'd chosen to wear. It was nothing special – just a green sweater with a lacy collar. It didn't even show that much cleavage. "Of course, if I were that sweater, I'd be coming on you, too."

Yeah. Well, at least that settled her inner debate on whether or not she should kiss him. She pulled herself out of his arms and turned to face him. "Did you seriously just say that to me?"

He just looked at her. She groaned and fought her way to the door. Why had she thought this was a good idea? What the hell was she thinking? She was halfway to the door when someone grabbed her wrist. She didn't even have time to say anything before a pair of lips was crashing against hers.

He kissed her with bruising force, gripping her wrists so hard that she swore she felt one pop. She was used to kissing Colt, who was gentle and tender. There was nothing gentle or tender about the way Dexter forced her lips open with his tongue. But her arms slid around his neck anyway, because there was something in Dexter's kiss that had been missing from Colt's – passion. He wasn't kissing her so much as attacking her, biting and sucking. She tasted blood. But she kissed him back with just as much vigor.

When the kiss finally ended, her lips and wrists hurt, and her heart was pounding. She couldn't believe she had such chemistry with a guy like Dexter. Even with Colt, it had never been like that.

"So," Dexter said, leering at her, "you want to go back to my place?"

She'd recovered enough of her senses to realize that she was not the type of girl who did that on the first date, and after Colt she wondered if she even wanted to do it at all. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He still had a pretty firm grip on her wrists, and he pulled her to him. "Well, I know what kind of girl I hope you are…"

And then he kissed her again, and he stole away her good sense and her rationality. But that may have also been the alcohol.

Martin asked Lindsay out about half a dozen times before she agreed to go on a date with him. She knew he had a crush on her, but she didn't feel anything towards him. He was nice enough, but there was no spark. Whenever she thought about him, which wasn't often, she compared him to Rick Moranis's character in Ghostbusters, who had that insane crush on Sigourney Weaver and didn't seem to notice that she considered him a nuisance. She wasn't sure what made her say yes; maybe his constant nagging had finally broken down her resistance. Maybe she just wanted to go out with him so he'd realize that they had no chemistry and give it up.

Whatever the reason, she agreed, and he made reservations for them at the Winter Room – the dining room at the Bozeman Country Club. She put absolutely no effort into her appearance, applying only minimal makeup and doing nothing different to her hair, leaving it instead in the tight bun she'd had it in for work that day. But Martin either didn't seem to notice or he honestly didn't care. He picked her up, and he opened the door for her – both the car door and the door to the restaurant. He was a perfect gentleman.

There was just no spark. There wasn't even a hint of a spark. She spent most of the evening trying to figure out ways to surreptitiously check her watch, only to discover that time had apparently frozen. There was no other explanation for the way that the dinner was dragging on.

Halfway through the dinner, when Martin excused himself to go to the restroom, Lindsay fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed one of her friends. She quietly asked for advice on what to do. The only advice her friend could offer was to kiss him and see if there was any chemistry.

Her friend explained how she and her husband hadn't had anything in common at first, but after they kissed, she felt the chemistry. Lindsay grudgingly agreed to give it a shot, though the thought of kissing Martin did not appeal to her.

When he came back from the bathroom, she attempted to steer the conversation towards something she thought they both might be interested in. Unfortunately, it seemed as though one of the only things they had in common was science, which meant that they eventually started talking about the lab – one of the topics she had hoped to avoid.

Martin seemed to be enjoying himself at least. And after a bit, Lindsay found herself slipping easily into the conversation. Maybe it was the enthusiasm with which Martin spoke, or maybe it was because she thought she should at least give him a chance.

"Can I borrow a quarter?" he asked suddenly.

Lindsay furrowed her brow, confused, but fished a quarter out of her purse and handed it to him. "Can I ask why?"

He smiled. "My mom told me to call her whenever I fell in love."

Lindsay rolled her eyes and laughed at the ridiculousness of that line. Martin, she had hoped, would not resort to one of those cheesy lines. Apparently, she was mistaken. It seemed that every guy she ever dated would use one of those lame lines on her.

The night was not unpleasant, though definitely not her most memorable. She mulled over her friend's advice, wondering if she even wanted to bother finding out if she and Martin had any chemistry. If they did, would she be able to suffer through endless dinners like the one they just had? Would she be able to live the rest of her life with a man who put her to sleep?

He walked her to her door. She searched her purse for her keys.

"I had a really great time tonight, Lindsay," Martin said nervously, shuffling from foot to foot.

Lindsay nodded, distracted. "Yeah. Me, too."

She let out a triumphant yell as she pulled her keys from her purse, and when she looked up to bid Martin good night, she saw that he was leaning towards her, eyes closed. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the inevitable.

Her eyes closed on instinct as she felt Martin's lips press against hers. She waited for the sparks, for the butterflies, for her foot to pop – anything to suggest that there was something between them. But Martin's mouth moved over hers very inexpertly – even her first kiss with Colt hadn't felt this awkward. She felt something wet on her chin and realized with a start that Martin was slobbering practically all over her face. He was everywhere – there was no finesse in his technique, no skill. It was like being kissed by a dog.

She broke the kiss, quickly wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve before Martin opened his eyes. He was smiling, and she wanted nothing more than to bolt through her front door. But she smiled at him, unsure of what else to do.

"Well," she said. That was as far as she got. She couldn't think of a way to finish that statement. She turned to unlock her door.

"You know," Martin said, and Lindsay froze mid-movement. She didn't even glance at him over her shoulder. "I have tickets for next week's anthropology lecture with Doctor Fordham. Would you be interested in attending it with me?"

Lindsay's mind was on overdrive, her eyes darting back and forth. She really wanted to go to that lecture – Doctor Fordham was famous for his work in the aboriginal colonies – but she'd been unable to get tickets. She turned slightly, smiling uncertainly. "Call me next week," she said, "and I'll see if I'm available."

She was. And she spent the whole night praying he wouldn't try to kiss her again. But he did.

Danny Messer was a patient man. He had to be, to put up with her. She knew they had chemistry – she felt it her very first day at the lab. Like Dexter, she had been able to feel his eyes on her before she even saw him. He watched her approach the tiger's cage. He watched her process the meat in the lab. It made her shiver, the way he was always looking at her, and his gaze wasn't possessive like Dexter's had been. It wasn't full of control; it was full of need, desire. It made her breathless, almost to the point where she was afraid she wouldn't be able to get any work done when she was around him.

She didn't even have to be around him. She could feel his eyes from across the hall.

It wasn't just his eyes, either. They always stood so close to each other when they were processing. Sometimes their hands would brush. Sometimes their arms would touch. Sometimes, they didn't have to touch for her to feel his fingers on her arm. It was electricity. It crackled in the space between them, in the air around them. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand up.

There was a deeper meaning in their flirtatious banter. She knew he wanted to take things further, and even though she denied it to the best of her ability, she knew she wanted it, too. Whether or not she was willing to admit it, somewhere along the way, she had developed feelings for the pain-in-the-ass smart-mouth that had become her best friend. She tried to search out his intentions without being obvious about it, but after the Holly case her plan went to hell. She'd been so scared – so certain she would die – that she clung to him with all her might.

But she heard the water cooler gossip about him and his reputation. She had been with guys like Danny, and he'd broken her heart. She didn't want to do that to herself again. So she pushed him away. She flirted, but she kept him at a distance. She couldn't deal with another broken heart. She didn't have it in her.

The next time she gave her heart away, she wanted it to be for good.

So she stood him up for dinner, hoping that would drive him away. But it didn't. He wanted to help her, be there for her. He didn't leave her, as she expected him to. He didn't move on, didn't find another bed to crawl into. He waited for her.

And when she came back from Montana, after the sudden death of her estranged father, he didn't immediately push her for a relationship, as she had thought he would. He was absolutely perfect, offering her a shoulder to cry on and an unbiased ear.

Damn him. Why did he have to be so damn considerate? Why did he have to be so damn perfect?

It was months after her return from Montana. Her and Danny's relationship had nearly returned to the way it was before the Holly case – before everything changed. She hadn't realized how much she missed their banter until it wasn't there anymore. She almost wished he would ask her out again. She desperately wanted to say yes.

"Hey, Montana," Danny said, coming up to her in the trace lab, "you got plans for Monday night?"

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Monday?" That was an odd choice. Why not Friday? Or Saturday? She shook her head, turning back to the microscope. "No. Why?"

"The Bryant Park Summer Film Festival," he answered, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"They show movies in the park?" she asked, making sure to keep her eyes on the sample.

"Yeah. Next week it's _Breakfast at Tiffany's_." She started, nearly knocking her microscope to the floor. She could feel Danny's smug smile without even looking at him. "We're both off at four, so I figured we could just head to the park right from the lab." He leaned in close. "Don't stand me up again." His breath was warm on her ear, and she shivered.

No way was she standing him up again.

Monday afternoon, she waited for Danny in the lobby. They did get off shift at the same time, but she hadn't run into him in the locker room. She looked for him in the lab but didn't find him, so she took the elevator to the ground floor and waited for him just inside the door to the parking garage. For one horrible moment, she wondered if he were going to stand her up so that she would know what it felt like, but just as that thought was streaking across her brain, she saw him approach, carrying a picnic basket and a blanket.

"You packed us a picnic?" she asked, smiling.

He grinned. "Well, I figured… You owe me a dinner, so…" He trailed off, then gestured at the door with his head. "Shall we go?"

They walked to Bryant Park and got there just as the lawn was opening. Danny let her pick the spot; they made probably three or four loops of the park until she found the perfect place for them to sit. Danny handed her the basket and spread the blanket on the grass, then motioned that she should sit. She opened the basket and grinned up at him.

"Grimaldi's?" she asked, pulling out the pizza box.

Danny shrugged, but she caught the blush that was tingeing the tips of his ears red.

The movie didn't start until dusk, so they had plenty of opportunity to talk. And they did talk. About everything. He didn't press her for details about Montana, about the reasons she had stood him up before, told him that she couldn't be in a relationship with him, but she told him anyway. Once she started talking, it was difficult to stop. She told him about Colt, about Dexter, about Martin – about her vows to never be in that situation again. And he listened, reacting appropriately. He swore so violently after her story of Colt's break-up note that several people looked over at them.

When she was finished, it was his turn to talk. He told her all about Tanglewood, all about Louie. He talked about growing up in the city, about Aiden. He told her about the Minhas case that had cost him his promotion and almost cost him his job. Halfway through his recollection of the conversation with Mac, she reached over and grabbed his hand. She didn't realize she had done so until he stopped talking and looked at her.

At last, it began to get dark, and the movie came on. Lindsay stretched out on her stomach, propping her head up on her hands. Danny sat beside her, his legs sprawled out in front of him, bracing his hands on the ground behind him. By the time Holly received the telegram about Fred, Lindsay's head rested on Danny's lap, and his fingers had found their way into her hair, which he was idly stroking.

It didn't occur to her to question how they ended up in this position. She stopped paying attention to the movie. The only thing she could focus on was Danny's touch – the way his fingertips gently massaged her temples as he twined his fingers in her hair. She suddenly found herself very aware of the fact that if she shifted position, her face would be inches away from his groin. She carefully rolled over onto her back, so that she could look up at him.

Brown eyes met blue ones. He was giving her that look again – that look that suggested all he had to do was concentrate hard enough and her clothes would just vanish. He licked his lips, and she shivered.

"You cold?" he asked, the concern evident in his tone.

She shook her head. "No." And before she could change her mind, she gripped the material of his shirt and pulled his head down to hers.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her heart momentarily stopped beating. She could feel the sparks course through her body the second her lips touched his. They traveled from her lips to her brain and then exploded out of her toes.

The kiss was anything but gentle – nearly two years of pent-up desire was finally unleashed, and it was evident in the way Danny's lips attacked hers. It sucked all the heat from the surrounding atmosphere and placed it between their lips. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she willingly granted him access, eager to taste him in return. He explored her mouth thoroughly, his hands cupping her face.

She never wanted to stop kissing him.

She grabbed his shoulders and hauled herself into a seated position, now situated completely in his lap, all without breaking the kiss. He nipped at her bottom lip, and she whimpered in the back of her throat. She could feel him smile against her lips. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, sinking her nails into his flesh. He growled and slid his hands under the collar of her shirt.

She abruptly pulled away, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. "You know," she whispered, "I've seen this movie."

Danny's eyes were piercing as they bored into hers. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "Well, what do you know? So have I."

They couldn't make it back to his apartment fast enough.


	10. Epilogue

**A/N: Here it is, the last chapter. Please don't yell. It was getting difficult to continue. I have a long list of possible attributes, but they weren't strong enough to build entire chapters around them, so I thought I'd end it before it got stale. **

**Thank you all so much for your extremely kind reviews and amazing interest in this story. This is the first multi-chapter fic that I've written that has received more than 100 reviews, and I am truly touched by how much you all like it. It really means a lot to me. **

**Special thanks to Auddie and Cyko for the beta and the reassurances.**

**

* * *

Epilogue **

**_"All our young lives we search for someone to love...someone who makes us complete. We chose partners and change partners. We dance to a song of heartbreak and hope. All the while wondering if somewhere, somehow, there's someone perfect...who might be searching for us."_**

**_- Kevin Arnold, "The Wonder Years"_**

* * *

Lindsay had never been inside Danny's apartment before, but examining the décor was the last thing on her mind as his fingers slid underneath her blouse and ran along the sensitive skin of her stomach. She shivered and gripped the back of his head, bringing his mouth to hers. She kissed him with fiery abandon, pouring her heart out through her lips. Danny returned the kiss with equal fervor, worshipping her mouth like a pilgrim bows before a religious relic.

She pulled away and licked her lips, tasting him still and hopelessly addicted. She met Danny's gaze, unwilling to look away. "So…dinner, drinks, a few laughs?" she asked, grinning.

Danny blew out a slow breath across her collarbone. She shivered again. "Total bullshit," he mumbled, surging forward to kiss her once more. His fingers slid up her stomach, and she inhaled sharply as they brushed the underside of her breast. "If I can't have you – all of you – then I seriously might die."

She giggled and fingered the waistband of his jeans. "Well," she murmured, "we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?"

He groaned and backed her against the door. "No. We wouldn't."

She slipped her hands under his shirt. He hissed in a sharp breath and swore softly. There was so much she wanted to tell him, and she had no idea how to begin. "Danny – "

She never got to finish, because quite suddenly Danny was kissing her, robbing her of coherent speech and conscious thought. The kiss was a contradiction – full of passion and need and tenderness and promise. It was slow and deep and so erotic she thought she might swoon. The only thing keeping her upright were Danny's hands on her hips. She wound her arms around his neck, desperate to get as close to him as possible.

Somehow, they ended up in his bedroom, tangled in the sheets of his unmade bed. It didn't matter how they got there – what was important was that they had. That Danny was slowly undressing her, delicately unwrapping her layer by layer. The look in his bright blue eyes nearly made her come undone right then. It was possessive and helpless at the same time, yet he was gazing at her with barely concealed awe, as though he couldn't believe that she was really beneath him.

She had never felt so complete.

Afterwards, she lay draped across his chest, delicately tracing the lines of his tattoo. She thought he was asleep, but he tightened his arm around her, shifting her position so that she was completely on top of him.

"Linds," he said, "I have to ask you something."

The seriousness of his tone made her nervous. She took a deep breath and nodded. "Sure."

He dropped his head back against the pillow, sighing. Then he met her gaze. "I couldn't help but notice your tattoo."

Lindsay froze. She had completely forgotten. She felt her cheeks grow warm and knew that she must be a brilliant shade of red. She burrowed her face into his chest so that she wouldn't have to look at him. "I got it in college," she mumbled against his skin.

His chuckle reverberated through his chest. "Damn, I must be good. You branded yourself with my initial before you even met me."

She lightly slapped him on the shoulder. "You are so full of yourself."

He wrapped his other arm around her and then rolled them over so that he was on top. "Mmm," he said, nuzzling her neck. "I'd rather that you be full of me."

She gasped. "Danny Messer, that was a dirty joke!"

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Why, yes it was, Miss Monroe. What are you going to do about it?"

She licked her lips and watched his pupils dilate. "For starters, I'm going to kiss that smirk off your face."

He laughed and leaned forward. "I like the sound of that," he said against her lips.

Several weeks later, Lindsay received a package from Montana. She furrowed her brow and cautiously unwrapped the brown paper. There was a note from her brother on top.

_Lindsay,_

_Found these in one of Mom's old trunks. Thought you might like them._

_Jeremy_

Lindsay picked her way through the box, pulling out items such as one of her mother's old scarves and pictures of Lindsay at her kindergarten graduation. Lindsay lightly ran her fingers over the image of her mother as her eyes stung with tears. But the thing that held her most captivated was at the bottom of the box.

It was a faded piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded many times. Curious, Lindsay opened it. The writing was barely visible but recognizable. It was hers. Or at least, it had been hers, at the age of ten.

It was her list.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she scanned it. She was certain that her mother had thrown it away. She read line after line, her heart beating madly. It couldn't be. It just wasn't possible. She jammed the paper in her pocket and dashed out her door. She was at Danny's in record time, pounding wildly on his door.

"Linds?" Danny asked, opening the door to let her in. "Did we have a date and I didn't remember?"

She shoved the list under his nose. "Read that."

He cocked an eyebrow but indulged her, taking the paper out of her trembling hands and reading it. When he was finished, he looked up. "Am I missing something?"

"I wrote that when I was ten," she said. "It's a list of all the attributes I wanted my perfect guy to have."

Danny nodded patiently. "Yeah?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You fit all of them."

He looked at the list with renewed interest. "Really?"

"Do you know what that means?"

Danny shook his head, his eyes still glued to the piece of paper. "I have a cute butt?" He grinned at her.

"Danny, I'm serious." He sighed and set the list aside. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

"No. Do you?"

She didn't know what to think. The list had been a joke; she hadn't been serious, but here was her perfect man, standing before her, looking at her like she was crazy. Colt, Dexter, Martin… They had been stops along the road that ultimately had led her to Danny. They were the opening acts she had to suffer through before she got to the main event.

She was in love with Danny. She always had been. She just wasn't willing to admit it to herself. But now the proof was staring her in the face.

"Linds?"

She smiled. "I didn't used to believe," she said. "And then I met you."

He quirked his lips in a half-grin and drew her into an embrace with one arm. "That's the corniest thing I've heard."

"You love it," she said.

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. "I love you."

She pressed a light kiss to his lips and felt the tears come. "Isn't this about the time I'm supposed to give you a pen?"

Danny laughed and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. "You'd better not. I give you my heart and you give me a pen? That's cold, Monroe."

She wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into his chest. "You have my heart. Jackass."

He laughed and captured her lips once more. There was very little talk after that.


End file.
